


I Wish I May (I Wish I Might)

by mg0918



Series: Bellarke drabbles [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Comfort, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Future Fic, I just really needed some fluff, Optimism, post 2x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:39:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mg0918/pseuds/mg0918
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bell?”<br/>“Hm?”<br/>“What do we do now?” He smiles, knowing what she means. He always knows.<br/>“Whatever the hell we want.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish I May (I Wish I Might)

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure fluff. This season has been really dramatic and angsty so I self-medicated by writing this. It's basically just some cute moments in their new settlement by the sea.

It’s been months since they left Camp Jaha and settled by the sea. They trekked through the forest for over two weeks before arriving at the ocean.

It was terrifying at first; a vast expanse of rough, churning water that looked like it went on forever. They were reluctant to leave the cover and security of the trees, but the excitement won out and they set up camp in a grove near the meadows and sand dunes. Octavia ran to the water almost immediately, squealing in excitement with Lincoln trailing behind her. They all followed soon after, and the looks of elation that came over the kids’ faces when they first sunk their bare feet into the sand made the past two weeks of continuous hiking worth it for Clarke.

None of them knew how to swim, and very rarely had they been completely submerged in water. Baths on the Ark were unheard of with water being too precious of a commodity to waste. At first, they all stood together knee-deep in the sea, bracing themselves against the small waves and too uncertain to move forward. Then, Octavia splashed Bellamy. The spray of water doused his head and he spluttered indignantly for a few moments and blinked the water out of his eyes before chuckling and splashing her back.

Seeing Bellamy so at ease relaxed everyone else, and soon they were jumping, splashing each other, and even attempting to swim. Clarke’s anxious pleas to be careful went ignored and eventually she gave up and settled for watching Miller and Monroe paddle eagerly through the shallow water. Clarke was laughing at Monty and Jasper dunking each other when she felt someone’s arm wrap around her and pick her up.

“Bell, no!” She shrieked, flailing helplessly in his arms. He just laughed.

“Sorry, Princess. Couldn't resist.” She whipped her head around to glare at him with narrow, slitted eyes.

“Bellamy Blake put me down right now or-” Those were the wrong words, and as soon as they left her mouth Bellamy grinned and tossed her unceremoniously into the water.

When she surfaced, spluttering and coughing hair out of her mouth, the rest of the kids froze and eyed them warily in preparation for a screaming match. Instead, she laughed and jumped at Bellamy. He was unsteady in the water and the force of her tackle knocked him backwards until he was submerged, and the sight of him flailing in the waves would been immensely satisfying for Clarke if he hadn't wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down with him. She scrambled clumsily back to her feet, giggling.

“Ass.” She said, grinning.

They spent hours wandering the beach, picking up shells and driftwood. Clarke kept a watchful eye on the younger children still playing in the water but managed to gather a large handful of sea glass. When she dumped the pieces triumphantly into Bellamy’s hands, she expected him to laugh or tease her, or to ask what the hell she expected him to do with a handful of _glass_. Instead, his face lit up and he tucked the glass carefully into his pocket.

That was two and a half months ago.

Now winter is drawing close and, although they act optimistic and upbeat, both Clarke and Bellamy are worried. None of them have ever faced a winter on Earth and they don’t know what to expect. They started to stockpile all of the spare food weeks ago in hopes of gathering enough to sustain them during the colder months. Clarke had the idea of trapping animals for their pelts so that they could have warmer clothes and blankets, but neither she nor Bellamy knew how their flimsy tents could possibly stand the winter weather. So, one day while Clarke was learning the fine art of trap-building from Lincoln, Bellamy dragged Miller and a few others towards the woods with tarps slung over their shoulders. They returned two days later dragging piles of logs behind them.

It took a few failed attempts before the first successful cabin could be built, and both Harper and Murphy were injured by falling logs. Harper hobbled toward her with a sheepish smile on her face, ducking her head to try to ward off the lecture she knew was coming. It didn't work, and Clarke scolded her for nearly twenty-five minutes before finally releasing her (with strict instructions _not_ to build any more cabins, no matter _what_ Bellamy said).  

Murphy hadn't come to the med tent, forcing Clarke to track him down and drag him there herself. She had sat him down on a cot and started fashioning a splint for his wrist. He didn't know how to react to her fussing and just sat there in uncertain silence, not used to people worrying about him or taking care of him. Clarke sent him off with a bundle of tea leaves for pain relief and a kind pat on the shoulder. As hard as he tried, Murphy was unable to hide the small smile that stole over his face as he left the tent.

Somehow the kids managed to build six cabins, and work on more every day. (Clarke has to hide her surprise every time a cabin is built successfully, but she has the utmost faith in the kids, _really_ she does.) There are four for sleeping, one for supplies and to replace the med tent, and one that was built especially large for meetings and (once it gets colder) for meals. Every time the final nail of a roof is banged into place, the weight pressing down on Clarke’s chest lightens and she breathes a little easier.

Monty had taken initiative and dug a large garden. He planted dozens of vegetables with seeds they’d acquired from Grounders after their truce, and a variety of herbs that Clarke used for healing. Hour after hour he spends puttering up and down the neat rows of plants, chattering loudly and enthusiastically to anyone passing by about the leaf length of the flourishing _melissa officinalis_ , or the progress he’s making with his _hypericum perforatum_. Clarke’s heart leaps a little every time they’re able to add vegetables to their stockpile, and the first time she helped pick carrots she almost burst into tears (really it’s amazing how happy one small root vegetable can make her, and how easily it can send her into hysterics) and was subjected to _weeks_ of teasing from Bellamy.

Their small settlement couldn't really be called a camp anymore. Octavia called it a village, one day, and the word fell so easily and naturally from her tongue that no one questioned or corrected her.

Sometimes, Clarke finds herself so happy she can barely breathe. It’s the small moments, like when Jasper came running up to her, beaming, with a box of watercolors and paper they’d scavenged from nearby ruins, when they first saw a pod of dolphins leaping through the waves, when Miller managed to catch the first fish and then paraded it around the village for half an hour, and when she wakes up in Bellamy’s tent every morning to see his still-sleeping face.

After a particularly successful scavenging mission, they’re all lazing around the fire pit and passing one of the bottles of vodka they’d found back and forth between them. Clarke is nestled against Bellamy’s chest  with her head tucked securely under his chin and listening to the mellifluous rise and fall of his voice as he delights the younger kids with stories of gods and monsters, of bloodthirsty kings and the beautiful women they went to war for, and of goddesses raining fire and brimstone down upon their enemies without even blinking an eye. This had started out as a one time thing, as a way to relax the youngest kids who still feared the dark, but Bellamy’s storytelling turned into a nightly ritual and now they all look forward to crowding around him every evening after dinner.

They’re all hanging onto his every word, even Murphy is listening intently. It’s the first time in months that Clarke has seen them so open and unguarded, and the look of sheer delight and enthusiasm on Monty’s face as he listens eagerly to Bellamy’s story of the Trojan War causes tears to well up in her eyes. She swallows hard and blinks them away before anyone can notice, but Bellamy senses her change in mood. Without stopping his story, he slips one of his hands under the blanket they’re sharing and laces their fingers together. His other arm winds around her waist and his fingers trace soothing circles on her hip.

Bellamy ends that night’s story with a riveting retelling of Achilles’ fight with Prince Hector and a promise to continue where he left off the next night. As they all stand and the crowd starts to disperse, Clarke snags one of the leftover bottles of vodka and slips away to a sand dune near the edge of the village.

When Bellamy finds her there an hour later, he approaches cautiously. He can handle a tired Clarke, an irritable Clarke, an anxious Clarke, and even a furious Clarke, but this Clarke - curled up in a ball sobbing with a half empty bottle of vodka clutched in her fist- is new territory. He approaches her slowly, with his hands half raised and spilling soothing whispers as he tries to tamp down the wave of dread rising up under his ribs.

“Clarke? What is it, tell me what’s wrong.”

She raises her head, and the sheer force of the shining smile plastered across her face almost knocks Bellamy on his ass, leaving him dazed and feeling like the air has been ripped from his lungs. His worry starts to abate as he takes her small face in his hand and gently wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. As he repeats himself, a small crease forms between her brows as she opens her mouth and tries to answer.

She tries, dear god she tries. She tries to tell him that the comfort and warmth of their small home has settled in her bones, and that she’s just so damn _happy_ she feels like her heart could burst. She tries to tell him that this is the first place in years she’s felt completely safe and at peace, that she’s actually starting to imagine a future for herself for the first time since before she was locked up on the Ark, but her voice is too shaky and her throat is thick with tears, and the thoughts and emotions are so jumbled in her head that she can’t untangle them long enough to articulate them. He watches her struggle for a minute before prompting her again.

“Princess?”

She’s looking up at him again and beaming, her face open and earnest. His breath catches in his throat because even with her hair in tangles around her shoulders and tears still spilling from her eyes, she’s just about the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“This place is just _right_ , Bell.”

A smile steals over his own face as he nods and swallows hard before tears can well up in his eyes, because _damn it_ , he’s not going to cry.

“It sure is, Princess.” She nods, satisfied that he understands, and allows herself to be scooped up and carried away to their tent.

One morning, Clarke wakes up to an empty bed instead of Bellamy’s sleep-slackened face. The blankets from his side of the bed have been tucked carefully around her, and there is a bowl of porridge sitting on the small table that’s still warm.

After shoving her boots on and yanking one of Bellamy’s shirts over her head, Clarke scarfs down the porridge and hurries out the door.

She doesn’t see him all morning, which is unusual, and tries ignore the disappointed twist of her stomach every time she scans the crowd by the fire without catching sight of his face. She even wanders over to the cabin that’s being finished in the hopes that he’ll be there overseeing the process. Clarke thinks she spots him ducking through the doorway, but as soon as she gets close Miller spots her and practically drags her away to the other side of the village, spouting something about checking his wrist for a possible sprain even though they both _know_ he’s fine.

She gives up on trying to track Bellamy down and spends the next few hours in the the cabin that replaced the med tent with Jasper, because the idiot accidentally set fire to his tent and managed to give himself second-degree burns. After the last bandage is secured, Clarke sends him out, grumbling to herself about tents and lanterns not mixing as Jasper presses a quick kiss to her cheek and slips out the door with a sheepish grin.

As she’s cleaning up and organizing her supplies, she hears someone walking in the door, and she whirls around ready to give Jasper another stern talking to.

“I swear to _God_ , Jasper Jordan, if you’ve managed to light something else on fire in the ten minutes you’ve been back in the village I’ll-oh, sorry Bell, I thought you were Jas.”

“No, but I did see him a few minutes ago slinking back to his tent, or whatever’s left of it.” She groans and rubs her temples wearily before looking back up and forcing a smile.

“So, what have you been up to all day? I went to find you but Miller practically yanked my arm off dragging me away from the new cabin.”

“That’s actually why I came to find you, cabin is done and you should really see it.” Clarke brightens and nods before following him out the door.

On the short walk over, Clarke and Bellamy see Jasper proudly showing off his bandages to Fox and regaling her with the tale of his “incredibly dangerous near-death experience”. (Idiot)

“So Miller and I decided this one should be living quarters.” Clarke nods and the wheels in her head start turning.

“Who are you thinking of putting in here? Mel and Harper still need a place so we could start with them. Fox too, she’s been in that leaky tent for _ages_ , and maybe-”

“Clarke.” Bellamy cuts her off mid-babble, grinning, as they near the new cabin.

“Right, sorry. So who?”

“Us.” She spins around to face him with her hands on her hips and an incredulous look on her face.

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

“Bellamy, we _can’t_ take a whole cabin for just us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we can absolutely take a whole cabin for just us.”

“Too many of our people are still sleeping in tents. We can’t.”

“Relax, Princess. I already asked around and no one’s opposed.”

“ _Bellamy_ , we need everyone sheltered before winter.” He smiles at her tone and gives her the patient “you know I’m right so please just save both of us the trouble and admit it” look, and Clarke isn't sure if it makes her want to smack it off of him or to kiss him until his eyes go dark and his face goes slack. 

“Clarke, we run _everything_. _All day_. We need a place just for us. Now, are you going to argue more or do you want to see the inside?”

She bites her lip and forces down the argument bubbling up in her throat before nodding and following him through the door.

She stops short, confused. Everything of theirs from Bellamy’s tent is already set up inside. Their bed is in the corner and piled high with fur blankets, some of Clarke’s drawings and watercolors are stuck carefully on the wall, and her sketchbook (not so much a sketchbook as a bundle of paper scraps that Bellamy had stitched together for her with string) is sitting on the bed along with the book of Greek myths that Bellamy has read hundreds of times. The handmade table that Bellamy put together sits beneath the window and is covered with books they’d found in the ruins as well as Clarke’s art supplies. Shells and sand dollars they had gathered from the shore over the course of the last few months are resting on the stacks of books.

There are new things, too. A thick fur rug that Clarke has never seen before is stretched across the floor, and there’s a wooden trunk at the foot of their bed which she suspects holds their clothes. The lid is carved with images of tall trees stretching up to a vast expanse of starry sky. She runs her hand delicately over the top, smiling, as she pictures Bellamy hunched over the trunk with his face skewed in intense concentration, making the tiny etchings with his knife. She looks up from the trunk and her breath catches behind her teeth.

There’s a delicate wind chime hanging in the window. It’s hung from a thin strip of cloth, and is strung with the dozens of tiny pieces of sea glass that she had given him months ago. She runs her hands through the strands gently, listening to the soft tinkling of the glass.

“Do you like it?” He’s still standing in the doorway, and his expression is so gentle and so full of adoration as he looks at her that her throat constricts and tears pool in her eyes.

“It’s perfect.” She says softly. Bellamy ducks his head almost shyly. She’s smiling widely as she crosses the room and buries her face in his chest. His arms wind around her and he presses a kiss into her hair.

They sit in the doorway, looking out at the village.

There’s a fire roaring in the center pit, and dozens are sprawled out on the logs around it. Raven is sitting with Wick and tinkering with bit of machinery, while Octavia is side by side with Lincoln as he slowly traces the black swirls that are newly curling across her collarbones. Jasper and Monty are laughing together over a cup of god knows what, and even Murphy looks content as he lays stretched out by the fire with a peaceful smile on his face.

Two small girls are chasing each other, their peals of laughter echoing through the village. They followed Octavia around for hours begging and pleading for her to braid their hair, saying they wanted to be “tough grounder ladies” just like her. Fighting back a grin, she finally relented and sat them in front of her as she worked. They could barely contain their excitement and squirmed the entire time despite her admonishments. When she finished, she took them to the nearby meadows and wove dozens of late summer’s wildflowers through the plaits. Now, as they run through the village, trails of bright yellow and pink blossoms mark their steps.

Clarke is leaning back against the door, with Bellamy’s head in her lap as he sprawls in the grass next to her. The late afternoon sun is sending slanting golden rays of light through the village, casting a warm and lazy glow over its people. She’s carding absentmindedly through Bellamy’s curls and she could swear he’s practically purring.

Before Clarke was arrested on the Ark, her future had been set in stone; she would finish classes, start her apprenticeship with her mother at the med bay, and be a full time doctor by the time she was twenty-five. When she was locked up, that all disappeared and was replaced with the less appealing image of being floated the day she turned eighteen. Even after they had landed on Earth, she didn’t dare to picture a future for herself; the ground was too dangerous, life here was too hard. Now, sitting in the doorway of the cabin, her cabin, she can finally see something ahead for her. She just doesn’t know what.

“Bell?”

“Hm?”

“What do we do now?” He smiles, knowing what she means. He always knows.

“Whatever the hell we want.”

 


End file.
